Staying Grounded [BXB]

Red Pill

SEBASTIAN:

"Fuck you, Derek," I attack the instant the door swings open on me to reveal his expectant smirk.

"Sure you've got any of those left to give?"

"He's still here?"

"Still in my bed." Derek quicksteps aside as I storm in by him. "Sleeping. So shush." He shuts the door at my back and follows me through to the flat's compact living space, immediately collapsing down onto the plush leather sofa. His hand pats the cushion beside him, but I don't sit.

Other than a few more framed band shots on the walls and a new rainbow throw covering the armchair, the room seems little changed in the year since I was last here. His drum kit is set up prominently in one corner, and the bedroom door beside it is firmly closed. Crossing the floor to block his view of whatever action flick is playing on the enormous flatscreen, I fold my arms and stare him down. After my run-in with Gary Tinwell, this is not a place I have enough spare patience to be.

I'd almost decided against coming. Probably, I should have sacked off the hunt from the get-go and just stayed home with Dobby. But hey, why change the pattern so late in the day, right?

"I do so hope you're not thinking what I think you're thinking," Derek says, kicking his bare feet up on the coffee table. "Because that'd be an insult not only to both me and him, Davis, but also to yourself."

I cock a brow at him and bite down hard into my bottom lip, his grin continuing to goad my blatant ire. As if he has the first clue.

Delving a hand in behind his back, he fumbles to retrieve the remote and shuts off the TV. "Just so we're crystal clear on this, okay? For jealousy is such an ugly colour. Your boy did not hop out of your bed only to immediately be wooed into mine; I give you my word."

A sharp taint of copper flavours my tongue. "I'm not jealous. Craig's not my boy. And it's not your words I'm here for."

"Okay, great. Care to stop radiating tension through my flat, then? That'd be super."

"Didn't realise you and he were friends."

"Looked like he needed one," he shrugs. "I volunteered."

"To what end?"

Amusement finally begins to fade from Derek's face as he takes a proper moment to study the expression on mine. Once again, he slaps the sofa seat beside him. "You want to stay and wait on him? Take a load off, make yourself comfortable."

I dart another glance toward the bedroom door, and I give my head the slightest shake.

"Let him sleep awhile, Davis." His feet drop to the floor, and I'm conscious of him straightening from his slouch, the expansive stretch of his arms riding his vest up from his low-slung sweatpants, but I don't look. "Bas," he amends, voice softening as he leans forward, "believe it or not, I've no desire to be your enemy."

It's the voice I used to think he reserved for me and me alone. It's not the voice I want to hear right now. Turning my back on him, I stalk around the breakfast bar to his fridge and help myself to a bottle of water from it. Craig'll likely need it. "What's he told you?"

"More than I was prepared for. Enough to suspect you'd be giving yourself a hard time." His gaze keenly tracks me as I move away from the kitchenette and closer to the bedroom on the pretence of checking out his bookshelves. "Guess I was right."

Panning over the tidy row of spines without really seeing, I roll the bottle between my restless hands; my ears are on alert for any slight sound from behind the wall. When I don't offer up anything further, Derek groans in exasperation.